


PS: Presumptions, surprises and a reality that works

by loveinadoorway



Series: Want an axe to break the ice [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I guess I wasn't quite finished with that one after all. I needed more than a hope for a new beginning. Hope I'm not fucking it up with this. If I do.... SORRY!</p>
            </blockquote>





	PS: Presumptions, surprises and a reality that works

Of course, he loved Mary now. She had been a godsend. He couldn’t have moved on after presuming Sherlock dead without her. Most certainly, he could never have moved on with another man. Simply inconceivable, really. After what they had had, no other man could ever have replaced Holmes.

Of course, therein lay the tragedy, since it naturally was the same way for Sherlock. Only, Sherlock was not going to find a woman, just like that. So John had in effect damned his former lover to a life alone.

The next time they met, John tried to gauge just how lonely and destitute Holmes really was. His rather meandering and disjointed monologue was met with a cool stare and silence.

“Well, you know, I just… I just wanted to find out if you were… seeing anyone. You know.” John huffed an embarrassed little laugh. “You know what they say, when you’re in a happy relationship, you want all your friends to be in one, too.”

“Is that what they say? And who are ‘they’?” Sherlock asked, in a voice bare of inflection.

John didn’t quite know how to respond. This entire scenario was not turning out the way he had envisaged at all.

“Well, I, uh… I don’t want you to be alone. You know, since I found happiness elsewhere, I, uh, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“It should please you then that I am indeed seeing someone. I am in effect trying to learn how to have a proper relationship. It’s quite the fascinating study. Luckily enough, my someone is a lot more patient with me than I deserve.”

John was trying not to let his disbelief show. Of all the ludicrous stories. Seriously. Obviously, the man was trying to save face.

Sherlock took a sip of tea, then continued: “It’s not easy for him, obviously. I have issues. I am, apparently, insufferable most of the time. I am abrasive. I don’t understand the basics of human emotion. And I abhor football.”  
He smiled.  
“Then, he also knows about us, which doesn’t make things any easier,” Sherlock said, his voice and expression carefully neutral.

“Weirdly, though, he makes me quite… happy.”

With that, Sherlock got up and walked to the door. Hand on the doorknob, he turned to face John. “It’s odd, really. I thought I was the one having problems letting go. It would appear, though, that it’s you, not me. I made a mistake in not telling you what was going on two years ago. You made your choice. Now I made mine. Can we now find some common ground to continue as friends, or will this be goodbye?”

“Friends. Definitely friends,” John nodded emphatically, desperate not to let on just how much it felt like the floor had just dropped out from under his feet.

With a murmured “good”, Sherlock left.

John sat there, while their tea slowly got cold, his mind filled with white noise.

~~~

Sherlock jumped from the cab, crossed the street at a brisk pace and rang the bell.

Greg opened his door and almost did a double take.  
When Sherlock had told him that he was meeting John that afternoon, he had felt that familiar icy lump of despair settling into its old spot at the pit of his stomach again. Somehow, even after their date and after it had looked like Sherlock was actually making an effort to establish a relationship, Lestrade had still felt uneasy.

He somehow hadn’t expected Sherlock to drop by only two hours after meeting with John. Nor had he expected a smiling Sherlock looking at him. At best, he had expected to be forced to pick up the pieces once more, to make sure the man would stay clean, to make sure his bloody prince of deduction would get a case interesting enough to take his mind off his broken heart.

And yet here they were and Sherlock was smiling at him.

“So. You’re back then.”

Oh bloody brilliant, Lestrade. Do sound like even more of an idiot than you actually are.

Sherlock just pushed past him and strode up the stairs.

By the time Greg caught up with him in the bedroom, Sherlock had already taken off his coat and suit jacket and was unbuttoning his shirt.

“I just solved a case,” Sherlock said, a little too casually.

“A case? I thought you were meeting Watson?”

“I was.”

The shirt joined the Belstaff and jacket on the floor. Those wickedly deft, long, white fingers were dealing with the belt and the pants buttons now. Then the zipper.

“The case I solved…”

The pants pooled on the floor. Sherlock stepped out of them.

“… is the most vexing I’ve ever had to deal with.”

Left sock, right sock.

“I’m sure John would have found a ridiculous title for it in his blog.”

Boxers.

“The Puzzling Case of the Consulting Detective’s Heart, maybe.”

Sherlock turned towards Greg, expression unreadable.

“Turns out he has one after all, that consulting detective, despite everything everyone is saying and it’s big enough to let go of one love and find a new one.”

A new one. Greg swallowed convulsively, not quite daring to hope.

“You see, I always thought what I felt for John was a one-off. A flaw in an otherwise perfect system. Restricted to this particular person, alien to my actual nature. I was so very wrong there.”

Sherlock frowned, slowly took off his watch and placed it on the shelf to his right.

“Shouldn’t have taken me this long to figure it out, really. Guess that was another proof that emotions really aren’t my forte.”

Sherlock moved towards Lestrade and gently ran his thumb over the other man’s lips.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have them,” Sherlock whispered as he leaned in and kissed Greg.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy them,” he added as he pulled them both towards the bed.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t admit I need them. Need you, to be more precise,” he breathed into Greg’s ear as he pushed his lover’s legs apart with his knee.

Much later that night, Greg gently shook the sleeping Sherlock awake.

“Just so we’re very clear here. You and me. Right?”

Oh and again with the brilliance, Greg thought. Why did he turn into a mumbling idiot every time he tried to make a point?

“Right. Can I now go back to sleep, please?”

Oh. Apparently, the point had been made after all, then.


End file.
